Miracles Large and Small

Thirteen years ago my father moved to Israel on the eve of Chanukah. That move was a major life change. He went from living independently by himself to sharing my home with me, my husband, and three of our children. The language around him was Hebrew, not English, the medical system was public instead of private, and the food was Middle Eastern.

My father left friends of nearly seventy years behind when he came to Israel. Instead of bemoaning their absence, he wrote letters, made overseas phone calls, and amazingly found new, English-speaking friends from such diverse places as New Zealand, Scotland, Philadelphia, the South, and even New York.

Although we were told it would take about a month for my father to get citizenship, he received it after only four days in the country and then, miraculously, he was able to immediately sign up for one of the national health plans. The local doctor and nurse gave him personal care reminiscent of the legendary, old country doctors. One initial payment to a native-English speaking oncologist had him in the system and all his cancer care, including his last days in hospice, were covered by the government.

Not only did he see three of his grandchildren daily, four more, along with two daughters-in-law, a son-in-law, and four great-grandchildren came to visit often. Another miracle was that they managed to communicate with their “Opa” in either English or sign language, all with love.

While living in America my father normally ate Raisin Bran for breakfast. At the time he moved to Israel that breakfast cereal was not readily available. He didn't complain but rather made do with Telma (an Israeli brand) Cornflakes adding raisins on his own. Incredibly, he got used to hummus, started to like red peppers, and appreciated every meal he had, whether it was home-cooked, or in a restaurant when he'd treat us to a meal out.

As I write this Chanukah is almost here. Menorahs are being set up in doorways and windows. Potatoes and donuts are on sale. Children are anticipating their school vacation. Stories of miracles are being shared.

My father had a major miracle when the two months that the American oncologist predicted he had left to live stretched into eleven. There were many other more subtle miracles. 

Jewish history, just like the Chanukah story, is full of miracles. So are our lives. Some are easy to see.   Others need to see the special vision of faith. I was blessed to have been able to see all the wonders my father had, both large and small. I pray I will always be able to see and appreciate the many miracles HaShem does for me every single day.

My father in my house with a grandchild